


Wants and Desires

by Iliad06



Series: Something Good [3]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Master/Slave, Masturbation, References to Depression, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 01:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iliad06/pseuds/Iliad06
Summary: Erasmus spends too much of his time trying to please the prince and Torveld just wants him to be happy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another fic about Torveld's and Erasmus's life in Patras. If you haven't read Something Good yet, you should do so, but you don't necessarily need to in order to understand this fic.
> 
> Chapters 1 and 3 detail my OCs relationship and how they are handling the same issues Torveld and Erasmus are. If you're just here for Torveld and Erasmus, you can read Chapter 2 as a stand alone! Though there are some mentions of Torveld and Erasmus in all three chapters.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Tadeas is bored. It’s been weeks since he arrived in Bazal astride a horse with Gareth at his back. Weeks of spending mornings with Erasmus and Adrian, the only palace slaves who seem to understand him, afternoons riding Emanon until his skin glows bronze and lithe muscles begin to bulge in his legs, and evenings with Gareth, getting to know the man’s mind, body, and soul. He’s happy for the first time, or at least he’s getting there. Some nights, he still jerks awake, heart racing and chest heaving as he squirms as far away from the strong body next to him as he can get without tumbling off the bed. Gareth knows not to touch him in those moments, but to light candles and talk softly instead, until Tadeas remembers where he is and that’s he’s safe.

Still, happy or not, Tadeas is bored. The days are easy, mindless, and it’s driving Tadeas crazy. He needs something to do.

It’s the middle of the day. The sun is bright and high in the cloudless, blue sky overhead. Tadeas lays on top of his discarded tunic in the long grass, far enough from the castle and village that he’s unconcerned about his nudity. His only audience is Emanon, grazing on the grass within reach. His skin is warm from the sun, his hair tousled every so often by the gentle breeze, and his eyes can’t help but droop closed. He’s relaxed and unguarded. He thinks for a moment that he should be worried to be caught alone and nude so far from the castle, but he’s been riding Emanon for weeks and has only ever seen one or two guards patrolling, and even so they have kept their distance from this open meadow.

With the lull of the breeze and Emanon’s soft whickers near his head, Tadeas drifts off to sleep.

***

Hooves thunder against the ground and Tadeas jolts awake. A quick glance at the sky tells him it’s past midday which means he’s slept through lunch, a meal he normally takes with Gareth as they walk the city streets. He jumps to his feet, ties his chiton quickly around his waist, and looks desperately for his horse. Emanon has wandered about twenty yards in the direction the galloping figure is coming from. He can’t tell who it is yet, but if the man has ill intent, Tadeas is without options of escape. 

His heart thuds against his rib cage and he swallows the bile that splashes up his throat. _Patras is not like Vere_ , he chants in his head as the large stallion draws nearer. Finally, the man atop the horse comes into view and Tadeas can see the familiar chestnut curls of his master bouncing with the wind and speed. Relief consumes him in a rush that leaves him gasping for breath as Gareth stops a few feet ahead of him.

The captain’s wide grin from riding falters as his eyes take in Tadeas, gulping air with a hand on his chest. He cocks his head to the side and his brows furrow together. “Are you alright?” he asks, concern clear in his brown eyes.

“Yes, I…” Tadeas shakes his head and squares his shoulders. “I’m alright.”

Gareth gazes at him for a moment. “You’re troubled.”

It’s not a question but Tadeas answers anyway. “I’m fine. I didn’t know if you were friend or foe is all.”

“Ah,” Gareth says as he slips from the horse. He lays a hand on Tadeas’s bare shoulder and squeezes. “I wish I could assuage your fears, but I believe time will do it for me.”

Tadeas shrugs, staring hard at Gareth’s boots. He feels silly for allowing himself to be so alarmed by hoof beats. He’s no longer in Vere and he wishes he could shake the feelings of fear away. Time, as Gareth keeps reminding him, is all that will help. Unfortunately, Tadeas has never learned patience.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” He shrugs off Gareth’s hand and fiddles with the hasty tie around his waist. Gareth hums and reaches out for the knot himself, raising an eyebrow at Tadeas in a silent plea for permission. Tadeas looks away but nods his assent, soft blush warming his cheeks. Gareth smiles and his deft fingers undo the knot with ease. 

“I missed you. You didn’t come for lunch.” He pulls the chiton off the slave, shakes the grass from it, and wraps it around his body the right way, tying it with a simple knot at one shoulder, the way Tadeas prefers.

“I was busy,” Tadeas snaps. Guilt shouldn’t gnaw at his stomach for missing one measly meal but it does. He didn’t mean to sleep through lunch.

“Caring for Emanon?” Gareth gestures to the horse still grazing far away.

“Don’t be an ass,” Tadeas says and tries to shove at his shoulder. Gareth laughs and snatches his hand out of the air.

“You know what they say,” Gareth teases as he presses a kiss to the back of Tadeas’s hand

“What do they say?”

“Show me what you eat and I’ll tell you what you are.” Tadeas’s face flames with embarrassment as his stomach fills with heat and shame. He snatches his hand back from Gareth as the man laughs loud and booming.

“Fuck off,” he snarls, rubbing the back of his hand. Gareth eyes glint, jovial and mischievous, as Tadeas scowls at him.

“I have a surprise for you,” he declares with a grin, unmoved by Tadeas’s glare. He unties a small satchel and blanket from the saddle of the horse before moving back to where Tadeas slept before. He spreads the blanket onto the ground and motions for Tadeas to sit next to him as he digs into the satchel. Out of the bag, Gareth pulls hard cheese, pieces of roast chicken, and even half a loaf of bread. 

“And wine to wash it down,” he says, passing a full skin to the younger man.

Tadeas takes a tentative sip and finds the wine sweet and fruity, not the dry, rich red favored by the king and prince that he personally has no taste for. “You spoil me.” Gareth grins and rips a chunk of bread off with his teeth before trading the loaf for the skin.

They eat in companionable silence for a few moments. Sometime during the meal, Gareth’s hand finds its way to rest atop Tadeas’s knee, thumb brushing back and forth across his skin. Tadeas smiles at him and swallows another swig of wine.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this meal, but shouldn’t you be training right now?”

Gareth shrugs and looks away from him.

“Gareth,” he prompts.

“I asked Torveld for the afternoon off.”

“Why?”

Gareth sighs and places the rest of his food on the cloth. He turns fully towards Tadeas and worry starts to tug at Tadeas’s mind. Has he done something to require Gareth’s day off?

“You’ve been sleeping a lot.”

Tadeas’s brows furrow. “And?”

“It’s a sign of illness or discontent. I wanted to spend the day with you to see if I could make you feel better.”

Tadeas chews his bottom lip and stares at the blanket beneath his legs. He has been sleeping a lot. Some days, he has no desire to leave the soft bed or comfortable haven of their room. Erasmus usually comes knocking on those days, dragging him from the bed and forcing him out into the sunlight for a walk around the palace gardens. On those days, Tadeas grumbles and drags his feet, but the pretty slave doesn’t seem to be bothered by his mood and only chatters on in his sweet voice.

A palm rests against his cheek as Gareth’s thumb gently tugs his lip from between his teeth. “I can hear your thoughts. There is nothing wrong with you.”

He looks up to find Gareth looking at him in concern, no sign of judgement or disapproval. “Then why do I only desire to sleep?” he asks, voice meek. He hates when he sounds like that, young and naïve and looking for the captain to fix his problems.

Gareth is quiet for a moment. His hand drops from the slave’s cheek to rest on his knee again as he looks out towards where the stallion and Emanon graze near each other. “My mother slept a lot after my father died. I was only a child at the time and didn’t truly understand why.” He sighs and picks up a blade of grass to tear at. “I think it was her way of dealing with the grief of it.”

“What happened to her?” Tadeas asks.

“She died years later in an unrelated accident.” Tadeas reaches out, covers one of Gareth’s hands with his own, and squeezes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Gareth smiles and it doesn’t quite light up his eyes like it usually does. Tadeas’s heart clenches, wishing he could do something to bring that joy back into the man’s eyes.

“It was a long time ago. Anyway,” he faces the younger man head on again, something like determination replacing the sorrow in his gaze. He grasps one of Tadeas’s hands in both of his. “I think you’re discontent because you’re still healing from Vere and because you have nothing with which to distract yourself from the pain of it.”

“I have you and my friends,” Tadeas claims. His life cannot be so pathetic. He’s happy in Patras and Gareth should know that.

“Yes, but you need a focus, something to do.”

“And what, pray tell, should that be?” He pulls his hand away from Gareth’s grasp. “I’m not serving the court of Patras as I’ve been trained to.” 

“Oh Tadeas,” Gareth breathes and reaches a hand out as if to touch the younger man. He seems to think better of it with one glare from Tadeas and drops his hands into his own lap. “You must know I would never suggest that.”

“Then what do you suggest?” His voice is cold, but his stomach burns with fear and guilt. He shouldn’t talk to Gareth this way. The man has been nothing but kind and patient, yet he can’t seem to stop himself from fighting back. He won’t serve again.

A hand reaches out and this time, he allows the hesitant touch, fingers brushing across his bare knee since the tunic has pooled in his lap. Gareth smiles gently. “I want you to think about something you desire to do, anything that interests you. Then, together, we’ll find a way for you to engage in your interests.”

“Right now?”

“No, take your time. Whenever you’ve thought of something, we’ll pursue it. If you don’t like it, you can think of something else.” Gareth’s hands grasp his where they fiddle nervously with the bottom of his tunic in his lap. Tadeas glances up instead of at the hem of his tunic and can’t look away from the earnest expression Gareth weighs on him.

“I want you to be happy, Tadeas.”

“I am!” he protests quickly because there’s no reason for him not to be. 

Gareth shakes his head. “You’re not. Not fully,” he adds quickly when Tadeas seems ready to argue. “It’s alright. I believe you will be in time.”

Tadeas is quiet for a moment, staring down at where their hands are tangled together in his lap. “I hate that word,” he mutters.

“What? Time?” 

He nods and Gareth wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I know,” he says softly and presses a kiss to the top of Tadeas’s head.


	2. Chapter 2

Prince Torveld of Vere is exhausted after a day of personal training and meetings and leading the afternoon training of his men in the captain’s stead. Captain Gareth requested the afternoon off to look after his slave. Tadeas has been sleeping and getting lost in his own thoughts with an increasing frequency that worries the young captain.

“I believe he is hurting from Vere and needs an outlet with which to heal,” the captain confided in him in an empty hallway away from curious ears. His worry makes it clear how much Gareth already cares for the young man, more than the fond affection most masters feel for their slaves. It’s a feeling that Torveld can relate to given his feelings towards his own slave. 

“Take care of him, Gareth,” he said and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Let me know when you find a solution for I am worried in the same way for Erasmus.”

The captain cocked his head. “Has he been sleeping a lot, my lord?”

Torveld shook his head. “Not quite, but I believe grief drives his actions as well.”

With a grim nod, Gareth departed towards the kitchens and Torveld made his way to the training fields.

The afternoon of training was at least invigorating to the older prince who spends more time meeting with court officials than with his men, a nasty side effect of times of peace. The men seemed happy for the reprieve as well. Captain Gareth’s tactics are effective but often seem sadistic to newer soldiers. Still, Torveld is glad when the evening bell tolls and he is free to return to his rooms and to his Erasmus.

He hastens down the maze of stone hallways, already thinking of ways to enjoy his evening with the younger man. Maybe they will take a bath together again, one of his favorite activities. Or perhaps he can entice Erasmus into letting him massage the younger man. He wishes to rub oil along his skin and press his fingers into muscles and hear the young man sigh with content until a faint blush dusts across his cheeks and his limbs are languid and pliant. Or perhaps they can simply break bread together and discuss their days and he can get another glimpse into the mind of the young man who rarely shows the sharp intelligence that hides behind pretty smiles and his submissive training.

So many possibilities and all the nights left to the pair for him to have them all come to fruition. He grins and pushes the door to their rooms open only to find a scene that awakens the same worry he had shared with Gareth earlier that day.

Erasmus moves around the room, unaware of Torveld’s presence as he rights pillows that are not wrong and dusts shelves that need no more dusting. He seems completely engrossed in cleaning their rooms and while Torveld appreciates the young man’s desire to please him, he does not need their room to be cleaned every day. He swears that it was only yesterday he caught Erasmus pulling each book from their shelf and dusting the pages.

Torveld shuts the door behind him with an audible click and Erasmus jumps and whirls, eyes wild with fear for a moment before he recognizes the prince and flushes. He sets down the trinket he was dusting and crosses the room quickly to kneel at Torveld’s feet.

“I’m sorry, sire, I—” Torveld hushes him and places a hand on top of his head.

“Erasmus, do you remember what we discussed before?” His voice is gentle and kind, yet a tremble works down the younger man’s spine. Erasmus swallows and nods his head.

“You said I no longer need to kneel at your feet when I see you.” His voice quivers just slightly and guilt lays thick in Torveld’s chest at the noise.

“You are not in trouble Erasmus,” he says as he stoops down to help the younger man stand. “I do not wish to make you do things you do not like. If you truly wish to kneel, you may do so. Only, I do not wish you to do so if it is only your training making you feel as if you should. Do you understand?”

Erasmus chews his bottom lip and Torveld knows after weeks of living with the young man that he is only thinking, turning over Torveld’s words in his head and looking for some meaning that Torveld may not actually wish to convey. “Yes, Torveld,” he says and finally meets the man’s eyes. He smiles and though it is hesitant, his face lights up with beauty that leaves Torveld breathless for a moment.

Torveld raises his hand to cup the young man’s cheek and smiles when Erasmus nuzzles into the touch. “I’ve missed you today, Erasmus.” Erasmus blushes pretty and presses a kiss to his palm. Torveld wishes to fold the younger man into his arms and show him how he truly feels about the slave, allowing his body to do the talking. But something tugs at his mind and he knows that his physical feelings must wait.

He takes Erasmus’s hand in his and guides the slave to the overstuffed couch. He sits on one side and motions for the slave to sit with him. He’s very careful not to indicate where Erasmus should sit. It seems silly, but he’s been integrating small choices into the young man’s life, trying to get Erasmus to do things he wants without overwhelming him with complete freedom. He asks Erasmus his opinion on matters, ranging from trivial things like breakfast to significant things like current court policy. Sometimes, Erasmus flounders and his training answers for him, deflecting to Torveld’s wants and desires. But, with an increasing frequency, he voices his own wants. Torveld wishes sometimes he could push Erasmus into taking more liberties, but doing so would only hurt Erasmus’s progress and make him revert to his training even more.

Erasmus looks at the couch for a moment, gaze flicking from the spot next to Torveld to the other end of the couch. He knows what Torveld is doing since they discussed it after the first time Torveld gave him a choice and he responded by apologizing and supplicating after instinctually giving an answer. 

“Wherever you want to sit,” Torveld says softly as Erasmus hesitates. The young man comes to a decision and climbs into Torveld’s lap. He wedges his backside between Torveld’s thigh and the armrest and situates himself so he sits sideways on the couch, back pressed against the armrest and legs over Torveld’s lap. He won’t look at the prince. His fingers pick at his tunic, trying to keep it from slipping off his bent knees and down his thighs, and his face is bright with embarrassment. Torveld smiles as a warm rush of affection for the young man floods his chest and makes his heart thump hard.

He presses a kiss to a hot cheek. “Good choice,” he breathes into the young man’s ear, curls tickling his nose before he leans back. If possible, Erasmus blushes brighter and wrings his hands.

“I missed you too, sir—I mean, Torveld,” he says into his knees without looking up. Torveld’s grin widens and he wraps an arm around the younger man’s waist, unsure what good he did in the world to deserve such a wonderful man.

They sit in silence for a moment, happy to embrace after being apart for the day. Erasmus’s fingers travel to play across the folds of Torveld’s tunic, giving up on keeping his own from falling with gravity. The prince rests a hand on top of the thin man’s bare knee, brushing his thumb back and forth across his soft skin. He allows his eyes to linger only for a moment on the young man’s revealed thighs, pale save for a few darker marks from his mouth the night before. He glances up to find Erasmus smiling, and blushes himself when he realizes he was caught looking as far as the tunic would allow.

“You test me,” he growls and Erasmsus giggles.

“I like seeing your desire,” he answers and then blushes at his bold words. Torveld presses a kiss to his cheek again.

“Well tonight my desire and yours must wait. I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

It’s curious how quickly Erasmus changes from relaxed to anxious. His eyes turn down, his legs close together, his knees pull up more, and a tension makes his limbs stiff. Torveld winces internally and wishes he had used different words or an even softer tone if only to keep the blonde from feeling fear.

“You are not in trouble Erasmus. I swear to you, this is not a bad conversation.” Erasmus only stares harder at his knees. “Please,” Torveld pleads, squeezing his knee, “do not fear what I have to say. I wish to make this life better for you that is all.”

Erasmus turns wide eyes onto the prince and Torveld wishes again for the ability to turn time to stop himself from making things worse. “This life is more than I ever dreamed of Torveld. I am happy.”

 _There’s no turning back now_ , he thinks. “Are you truly?”

The young man flinches and tears spring to his eyes. “Did I do something wrong to indicate I was not? Please, my lord, do not worry. This slave only wishes to serve.”

 _Damnit_. The conversation has barely begun and already Erasmus is relying on the submissive epithets of his training. Torveld shakes his head and tightens his grip on the younger man’s waist.

“Of course not, Erasmus,” he says and runs a hand through the soft curls that hang over the younger man’s face, tucking them behind an ear. “It is only something I’ve noticed.”

Erasmus watches him with wary eyes, undoubtedly trying to find a hidden meaning or trap in his words. Often, Erasmus trusts without second thought and then there are moments like this. Vere has made him question words in ways he wouldn’t have in Akeilos. Torveld keeps his expression open and allows the slave to think through his words in his own time. 

Finally, Erasmus nods and drops his gaze to where his hands are clasped in his lap. “I am happy,” he says softly. “But… sometimes I grow… restless?” He says it like a question but Torveld can parse the statement beneath.

“I notice that you clean a lot. This room has been dusted more times in the weeks that you’ve been here than in the years I have lived.”

Erasmus blushes and opens his mouth to apologize, but upon seeing Torveld’s happy smirk, he smiles instead, sheepish. “I have a lot of time while you are gone.” Torveld knows Erasmus spends his mornings with Adrian and Tadeas, but his afternoons are free as Tadeas rides and Adrian flounces around the palace doing whatever he does. “And I wish to please you.”

“You do not need to clean daily to please me, my dear.” Erasmus smiles at the pet name, an indulgence Torveld gives into sparingly since he wishes to prolong the pleasure it brings to the young man. 

“Then how should I spend my time, Torveld?” His voice is soft and light as he asks and the sweet tone makes Torveld wish he could make this easy for Erasmus. That he could give Erasmus everything the young man could possibly desire so he could just indulge in all his passions.

“However you want to,” he answers.

Erasmus’s brows furrow and he opens and closes his mouth like a fish before finally pressing his lips together in a thin line. Torveld allows him a moment to think, thumb resuming its rhythmic path on the blonde’s knee. 

“I’m not sure what I want.” He seems ashamed and Torveld’s heart aches. 

“Do you have anything you like doing?” Erasmus flushes and Torveld chuckles, assuming where the young man’s mind must have wandered. “Other than that. Something you like doing by yourself.”

“I’m not sure. This slave was not allowed tasks other than training.”

Torveld hums and tries to push down his own anger. Akeilon slaves are prized in Patras because of their submissiveness and strict adherence to their training. It is only now that Torveld is beginning to understand the damage such relentless training can cause. Even the Patran slaves he once tumbled with are not as submissive as Erasmus has been trained to be. He didn’t account for Erasmus having literally no idea of his own interests. 

With nothing left to do, he sighs and kisses Erasmus’s forehead. “Let’s figure it out together. I’ll ask you questions and I want you to answer honestly about what you like and don’t like. Maybe we can find something for you to pursue.” Erasmus nods and reaches out to grasp Torveld’s hand in his own. Shorter fingers intertwine with his and pull his hand further into the slave’s lap so Erasmus can lay his other hand on top of their grasped ones.

“I’ll try,” he vows and Torveld warms with affection for him for what must be the tenth time that night.

“That’s all I ever ask.” He smiles and Erasmus smiles back. “Do you like singing?”

“Yes.”

Torveld frowns. The answer was said too quickly for his liking. “Let me rephrase, does singing make you happy?”

Erasmus chews his lips and looks down at his knees. “Honesty, Erasmus, please.”

“I like that I sound good and that it makes you happy to hear me.”

“But you don’t want to spend your free time doing it more?” Erasmus nods and Torveld squeezes his hand. “Good. How about playing music?” Erasmus shakes his head. “Cooking?” Another shake. 

They work through almost twenty different pursuits and Erasmus’s reactions always tend towards the negative for different reasons. He doesn’t want to learn to ride because he’s scared of being thrown from horseback. He enjoys art, but would rather view it than create it himself. He vehemently does not want to learn self-defense, too worried about harming another human being, even though Torveld tries to assure him that it would only be in times of need.

Torveld sighs and tries to think of another hobby, anything he hasn’t already mentioned.

“I like to learn,” Erasmus says without prompting and Torveld’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead. 

“Yes, go on.”

Erasmus shrugs and fiddles with Torveld’s hand in his lap, tracing over the length of his fingers. “That’s all. I like learning new things. That’s why I asked so many questions during our ride to Bazal.”

Torveld thinks about that as his gaze wanders the room. An idea strikes him and he can’t believe how silly he’s been to overlook something so obvious with shelves of books before him. “Do you like to read?”

“Yes, but um…” The young man hesitates.

“Yes?”

“We were only taught basic skills to better serve our masters so I’m not very good.” His ears turn pink with shame.

Torveld smiles and pulls his hand out of Erasmus’s grasp so he can grip the blonde’s chin and turn his face to look at him. “Well, it just so happens that I know how to read and I’ve been told I am a patient teacher.” Honey colored eyes widen and Erasmus shakes his head so hard his blonde curls bounce.

“No, Torveld, I couldn’t ask you to—” A finger pressed to his lips silences his panic before it can begin.

“You’re not asking me anything I would not freely give you.” He removes his finger and when the slave stays quiet, he continues. “We have a palace library that needs tending. People of the court and city alike are welcome to come in and read the books. You could assist in the afternoons if you would like. In the evenings, you and I can read, and I will teach you words you do not know. From there, you can learn about anything you like. Does that sound like something you would wish to do?”

Erasmus looks surprised, eyes still wide and brimming with tears. He opens his mouth to speak but only a choked “sorry” comes out as tears spill down his alabaster cheeks. Torveld cups his face with both of his hands, brushes away the tears, and leans his forehead against Erasmus’s. His chest aches for the young man, but he stays quiet, the importance of allowing Erasmus to sort through his own emotions at the forefront of his mind. 

In moments, the younger man quiets to only occasional sniffles.

“Did I upset you?” Torveld breathes, worried to break the silence and upset the slave again.

“No, you have brought me more joy than I know how to accept.” His eyes glisten, but no more tears fall as his lips spread in a hesitant smile.

“I wish only for your happiness.”

Erasmus hums and presses a gentle kiss to Torveld’s lips. He wraps his arms around Torveld’s neck and pulls him further in and Torveld cannot resist the temptation. The older man wastes no time in deepening the kiss, using his tongue to sweep into that welcoming cavern, the sweetest ambrosia. Erasmus sighs happily and relaxes into their embrace, his fingers playing with the short hair at the nape of Torveld’s neck. His hand rests on one of Erasmus’s thighs and he presses his thumb against plump skin that has darkened with one of his marks. The blonde pulls back to moan softly and looks at Torveld, eyes hooded and molten with desire. 

“Would you like to begin your reading lessons tonight?” He wishes for Erasmus to say no, for Erasmus to beg to be taken to bed and taken apart with his fingers or better yet with his mouth between the lithe man’s legs. He can imagine now, the twitching thighs beside his ears as he brings Erasmus to the brink of pleasure only to pull away for the third time that night, leaving the young man delirious and begging for completion. The image is not so hard to conjure from memory of the night before or even a week ago.

Erasmus nods his head and quickly ends Torveld’s fantasy. “I desire you, but I am eager to start if that’s alright?” He phrases it like a question and everything in Torveld screams to tell him no, that his lessons would need to wait. But Torveld knows to push aside his wants when he has barely begun to voice them would be a mistake.

“Pick any book you want from the shelf and we’ll read for the next hour. Then, I will take you to bed and do as I desire for an hour.” Erasmus blushes and grins.

“A fair trade, sire,” he quips with a wink as he pushes himself out of Torveld’s lap. Torveld can’t resist laying a soft smack to Erasmus’s round backside as he turns and flounces off to the shelf with a giggle. 

He returns and settles himself across Torveld’s thighs like before, thick tome nestled in his lap.

“The Brave Knight,” Torveld reads from the cover. “One of my favorites.” He opens to the first page and holds the book at a slant so that they both can see the large, hand printed words on the page. 

“Yes, the binding looked worn.”

“Is that why you chose it?”

“I wanted to see why you would read it so often.”

Torveld hums and kisses the hinge of Erasmus’s jaw. He sets his finger to the page and pronounces each word, careful to move his finger along as he reads aloud. Erasmus holds the book steady and his eyes are filled with awe as he follows Torveld’s finger across the page. He mouths some of the words he knows, smaller ones like “the” and “man.” After the first page, Torveld pauses for Erasmus to fill in the words he knows aloud, but continues reading the larger words. He’ll teach Erasmus how to sound words aloud another day. For the first lesson, he wants to know what Erasmus can already do and for the younger man to feel confident in what he knows already, not frustrated trying to learn new skills too early.

A few pages in, Erasmus curls further into his side and chest and rests his head against Torveld’s shoulder, tucking his forehead against the older man’s neck. Torveld pauses to turn the page and lays a kiss on top of the mop of curls beneath his chin.

***

An hour later, Torveld reaches the end of a page and places a torn piece of parchment between the pages to mark their spot. Erasmus’s head is tucked into his neck and he seems content to stay there for another hour, listening to the rumble of Torveld’s low voice come from his chest as he reads. Torveld kisses soft curls.

“Ready for bed?”

Erasmus hums and nuzzles against the prince’s neck. “Anything you desire, Torveld.” His voice is innocent, but his fingers shift his tunic down in a minute gesture, probably hoping the prince won’t notice. His actions betray his façade of naivety. Torveld’s eyes glance down to where new skin has been revealed to him so high up his thigh he can almost see everything, but just modest enough to hide those most crucial parts from his sight. 

“Anything?” he asks, moving his hand up and under the hem of the tunic to just barely brush his knuckles against Erasmus’s soft cock. Erasmus jerks and gasps, a barely audible rush of air, and Torveld warms with desire at the noise. 

“Stand before me,” he says. Erasmus grins, impish, and does as bid, standing tall above the prince, already wavering slightly and betraying his own desire. 

“Bend and grasp the table.”

“Torveld,” Erasmus gasps and his eyes widen at the prince still sitting on the couch. The position will make his short tunic rise and reveal his backside eye-level to the prince. Torveld has only done this to him once before, but he cannot stifle the desire to do so again. Erasmus must have followed his train of thought because his face turns red and his fingers fiddle with the bottom of his tunic like it does when he is nervous.

Torveld reaches out to grasp his hands. “Will you allow me this? To bring you such pleasure.” He presses a kiss to the back of one hand and then the other, all while watching carefully for Erasmus’s reaction. If he is too embarrassed, Torveld won’t force him.

“Yes,” Erasmus breathes, and the word shakes in the air.

He chews his lip before he turns and bends to rests his hands on top of the table that is the same height as the couch, making his back flat. The tunic rides up about half way and Torveld lifts it the rest of the way, revealing the ivory backside that occupies his thoughts throughout the day.

He shifts forward to sit on the edge of the couch and brings his hands up to knead at the plump flesh. Already Erasmus whimpers and sways on his feet, knuckles gripping the wood beneath him, and Torveld can’t help but grin.

“Can I?” he asks, placing his thumbs on either side of the split in Erasmus’s buttocks, but not pulling. Erasmus nods and then gasps “yes” when Torveld does not notice. Torveld parts his cheeks and stares at what is revealed. The little hole is pink and furled, still a little loose from the night before, but too tight for him to take without preparation. A shudder runs down Erasmus’s spine and Torveld presses a soft kiss to his flank in his gratitude. It embarrasses Erasmus, but Torveld loves to gaze upon his body.

He leans forward, hears a bracing gasp, and licks a stripe from balls heavy with arousal to hole. Erasmus yelps and Torveld chuckles. He repeats the action, licking over and over the sensitive skin, but not penetrating. Erasmus’s legs shake with the effort of holding himself up and his back dips further and further down as he is overwhelmed with sensation, unable or unwilling to hold himself up against the onslaught of pleasure.

Torveld could sit for hours, driving his lover crazy with teasing flicks, but he takes pity on him soon enough. He points his tongue and pushes inside just a little. Erasmus grunts and buries his face in his arms where they are now crossed on the table, pushing his backside further against Torveld’s face. Torveld groans and pulls back.

“Do that again,” he growls, before diving back in with his tongue. Erasmus hesitates, but a gentle squeeze of fingers on his hips encourages him and he grinds back against Torveld’s face again. His moans fill the room and Torveld’s cock twitches with each noise, filling and thickening with his own pleasure. He guides Erasmus’s hips back in an endless, looping grind as his tongue plunges in and out of that pliant hole. The taste is heavy musk, but worth the pleasure evident in the younger man’s ceaseless moans, gasps of his name, and twitching of his thighs.

“Torveld,” he gasps and the noise is a little higher than normal, warning of his impending orgasm. The prince pulls back and looks again at the loosened passage, glistening with spit. He dips his thumb inside just to see Erasmus’s hips jerk at the unexpected intrusion.

“I’m thinking over the table,” he says, pushing his thumb in and pulling it out gently. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Erasmus has already reached the babbling stage and Torveld vows to use his mouth on his hole more often if it is bound to get this reaction from the younger man.

“I’ll be right back,” he says and forces himself up from the couch. He sheds his tunic as he makes his way into their bedchamber, hastening to grab the bottle of oil from the bedside table. Spit is not enough lubrication and he would never want to hurt Erasmus during their lovemaking, even if it is difficult to step away from the young man.

He passes back through the archway and stops, jaw dropping at the image before him. Erasmus kneels where he was left, chest pressed over the top of the wooden surface and head cradled in a bent arm. One hand grasps the edge of the table. Next to his shoulder, a small decanter of oil with the stopper by its side. His other hand moves slowly at his backside and Torveld can’t see his fingers from this angle, but he can assume what they are doing. Erasmus’s face is dusted pink with arousal and his eyes hooded with his own pleasure. He looks up at Torveld and moans softly. 

“You little minx,” Torveld breathes and Erasmus flushes and squirms. 

Torveld takes his seat at the couch again, prime viewing for the scene before him. Erasmus tunic lays on the ground near his knees, no longer obstructing Torveld’s view of the pale expanse of his back, plump backside, and slim thighs. Two slender fingers, slick with oil, move in and out of the young man’s hole. Erasmus doesn’t stop his actions but moves faster, emboldened by the desire evident in the older man’s voice.

“Where did you find the oil?”

“I hid it, sire,” he gasps and his hips jerks and Torveld knows he must have touched that bundle of pleasure inside of him. He groans and grasps the round cheeks before him, pulling them apart to see more of the fingers that drive inside that loose entrance. Erasmus moans.

“Insatiable,” Torveld breathes and pushes the flesh together to make Erasmus’s hips stutter.

“Torveld, please!”

“One more Erasmus, then I will give you what you want.”

Erasmus whimpers but adds another finger with a wince at his own haste. Torveld tuts and runs gentle fingers up his thighs, over his backside, and along his spine before following the path back down. His eyes never leave the sight before him, even as he tries to soothe the younger man with his touch. Erasmus spreads his own fingers, trying to hasten the stretch so that he can have Torveld inside him. The man groans at the image and finally wraps fingers around his thin wrist to pull his hand away. He cannot wait a moment more. 

Torveld slicks his cock quickly and arranges himself behind the younger man, kneeling on one leg with the other bent to the side to give him leverage for deeper thrusts. He presses the head of his cock to Erasmus’s stretched hole and watches for a moment as the slick skin winks, as if trying to entice Torveld’s cock inside.

He leans forward over Erasmus’s lean back and presses his mouth to the young man’s ear. “Like this?” he asks in a low voice, rough with his held off pleasure. 

Erasmus nods and pushes his hips back against Torveld’s cock. The movement jars the head of his cock and it catches on Erasmus’s hole before slipping up to grind between the split in his cheeks. They both moan and Torveld rocks his hips forward as Erasmus moves backwards. His cock thrusts between the younger man’s backside and the friction warms his cock with pleasure.

“Like this then?” he asks again. Erasmus is prepped for him, but he can find his pleasure and Erasmus’s without entering the young man if that is what he desires.

Erasmus shakes his head and looks over his shoulder at Torveld. His cheeks are pink with his arousal, his eyes glazed slightly, and his pupils blown. He bites his lower lip. “Inside.” He swallows and seems to shake his head to ward off haziness. His eyes refocus on the man behind him. “I want to feel you inside me.” He pauses. “Hard.”

Torveld groans and is overcome with desire. Desire to kiss him. Desire to take him. Desire to flip him onto his back so he can watch Erasmus’s eyes flutter and lips part on moans as he thrusts inside his body. He squeezes Erasmus’s hip. “Anything you desire,” he says and takes his cock in hand to line himself up again.

Torveld thrusts deep into his body in one long, quick thrust. Erasmus yelps and scrambles to brace himself against the table, but Torveld gives him no time. The young man wants it hard and Torveld can do hard. He pulls back and thrusts forward again, aiming for that spot he knows will make the blonde breathless. Erasmus’s hole clenches tight around him as pleasure shocks through his body. He moans and Torveld grins at the noise and pulls back just to snap forward again.

The room is filled with noise: Erasmus’s moans and gasps of pleasure, the slap of skin on skin with Torveld’s unrelenting thrusts, and Torveld’s own groans. Torveld watches Erasmus’s face, scrunched with pleasure and pink with exertion and that damned blush that never quite leaves his cheeks. He groans at the image and shifts to bring a hand underneath the hips he drives into. Erasmus jerks when his fingers clasp around the slender cock and he pushes his hips back to meet Torveld’s thrusts and then forward into the tight grasp of fingers.

“Tor, tor,” he gasps with each thrust.

It’s too fast, both of them already close to the edge when they’ve barely even begun. Torveld squeezes his fingers at the base of Erasmus’s cock to stave off his building orgasm and thrusts his hips forward to fully seat himself inside the young man. Erasmus’s groan chokes off into a whimper and he tries to move his hips forward, but Torveld’s hand on his hip keeps him pressed back into the cradle of his lap.

“Torveeeeld,” he whines.

The prince chuckles and nuzzles into soft curls. “I’m sorry, sweet thing. I didn’t want to finish so soon.” He tries to keep his hips still, to give them both a moment to come down from their pleasure so that he can build it up again, but his hips won’t cooperate. They grind against Erasmus’s bottom, not thrusting but moving in small circles instead. The head of his cock presses relentlessly against the spot inside Erasmus that brings the young man undeniable pleasure. Erasmus shakes beneath him, thighs twitching and stomach clenching and unclenching in a way that makes his whole body practically vibrate. 

Torveld keeps his fingers circled tight at the base of Erasmus’s cock to keep the blonde from reaching his peak. Eventually, their breathing slows. Torveld’s grinding hips relax forward instead of moving. Erasmus’s desperate twitching stops, and his whimpers taper off to be replaced with quiet gasps. Torveld lets go of his cock, wraps both arms around the young man’s waist, and presses his chest along Erasmus’s back.

The room is quiet save for their deep breathing. Torveld nuzzles into soft blonde curls and noses them out of the way to press soft kisses to a sweaty temple. “Sorry,” he breathes, not wanting to interrupt the content quiet that has settled between them. 

Erasmus shakes his head and then twists his head as much as he can to look at the man behind him. “I like it and…” he pauses and Torveld waits for the young man to consider his words. “I like you.” He blushes hard and Torveld can imagine what the slave truly thought of saying. He smiles and smooths the wild curls back from his face so he can kiss Erasmus’s cheek again.

“I possess the same level of affection for you, Erasmus.” 

It must be too much, too soon, for Erasmus reaches a hand back to pull Torveld’s hips forward as he pushes his own hips back. “Please Torveld, please,” he whimpers in the breathless voice that alights Torveld with desire. The prince knows that he is being manipulated, knows that Erasmus knows what that sound does to him, but he allows it. The air around them a little too heavy with unsaid emotions that neither one is ready to acknowledge. Not yet anyway.

“You know not what you ask for,” he teases and nips at Erasmus’s bare shoulder. The hole his cock is nestled inside of clenches suddenly and Torveld groans and drops his forehead onto Erasmus’s spine. Erasmus giggles.

“Show me, my prince.” 

He growls and pulls Erasmus’s hand from his hip and pushes it palm down onto the surface of the table. He threads his fingers through the blonde’s fingers and squeezes. Then he pulls back and thrusts forward. Hard.

The movement jostles Erasmus and pushes his hips forward. He moans and grasps the edge of the table with his free hand. Torveld picks up the pace from before, relentless thrusts into the smaller body. He straightens up and uses both hands to grab the thin hips and guide them backwards. Their skin slaps together, each noise punctuated by a moan from Erasmus or a grunt from Torveld. Desperation moves both of their bodies: desperation for pleasure and to regain the wild lust of before. 

Erasmus pushes himself up from the surface of the table, bracing against the edge of it so he can meet Torveld’s punishing thrusts. He moans and looks over his shoulder at the older man. Torveld groans at the sight: Erasmus’s disheveled hair, eyes hooded, and lips plump from biting them. He wishes, for one irrational moment, that he could keep Erasmus like this at all hours of the day, full of his seed and delirious with pleasure.

He presses a series of kisses along Erasmus’s shoulder and neck. “Beautiful,” he murmurs into the soft skin beneath his lips. Erasmus smiles and twists his head for a quick kiss, not something they can maintain in this position. Torveld smirks when they part. 

“Down,” he says, voice pitched low, and presses a hand to Erasmus’s back to push him back down onto the table. The blonde moves willingly to how he knelt before, head cradled in one bent arm and other hand free to grip the edge of the wood. This angle is better for both of their pleasure. Torveld thrusts longer and deeper this way, the friction against his cock maddening. 

Each thrust hits the spot inside Erasmus that makes him moan and sometimes cry out. His body shakes and Torveld knows he is close to his peak. He reaches a hand around Erasmus’s twitching hips and wraps his fingers tight around the head of Erasmus’s cock. Erasmus yelps, oversensitive already, but Torveld doesn’t pull away. He flicks his fingers over the slippery head, wet from his dribble of pre-come. The blonde squirms and whimpers, but he’s pinned between Torveld’s fingers and his cock. Tears fill his eyes but Torveld keeps his fingers there, flicking through the mess and spreading it down his length.

“Yes, Erasmus,” he growls into the blonde’s ear. “Come for me, love. Let me feel you lose yourself in pleasure.”

Erasmus shudders and jerks his hips. His face slackens in his arm and liquid courses over Torveld’s fingers, shooting onto the floor below them. Torveld groans and keeps thrusting, Erasmus’s hole tight with his release. It’s easy to spend himself inside his lover with a groan, filling the young man with his seed and pumping his hips until some begins to leak out. He collapses forward onto the long, lean back and gasps to try and catch his breath. The body beneath him shakes and Torveld worries for a moment that Erasmus was hurt in his enthusiasm until he realizes Erasmus is laughing, a soft, happy noise.

“What is funny?”

“You’ve never been so wild, Torveld. I’ll have to prepare myself again for you.”

Torveld groans at the image and rests his forehead on a thin shoulder blade. “You’ll lead me to an early grave.”

Erasmus giggles and purposefully grinds his hips backwards just to hear Torveld’s punched out gasp and feel the prince’s arm tighten around his waist.


	3. Chapter 3

“You seem to be in high spirits this morning,” Tadeas claims over his bowl of warm porridge. Erasmus sits across from him at one of the large dining tables meant for palace servants and slaves. The pretty blonde hums and the little smile that he has worn since he walked into the room that morning only widens.

“Prince Torveld must have given you something good with a grin like that,” Adrian nudges his elbow into Tadeas’s ribs and the Akeilon groans and shakes his head. 

Erasmus only flushes and looks down into his own bowl.

“See? A good ride makes for a happy day!” Adrian titters a laugh and tosses his long hair over his shoulder, leaning forward as if to conspire with the blonde before him. “Come Erasmus, share with your friends. Is his cock as thick as I think it is? Does he take you until you cannot walk? Does he use his mouth?”

On the last question, Erasmus’s face flames. Tadeas thumps his head against the table with a groan as Adrian cackles and claps his hands with his joy. “Oh, do tell!”

“I’m not telling you how the prince and I enjoy one another’s pleasure. It’s private,” Erasmus states before spooning porridge into his mouth with an air of finality.

“I’ll tell you about the king and I.”

“No,” Erasmus and Tadeas claim in unison.

“You two are no fun,” Adrian says with a huff, twinkle of mischief still in his gaze. “I’ll have to find a better audience. Wait up Theo!” With a call to the tall stable hand about to leave the hall, Adrian pushes up from the table and jogs down the aisle, leaving his half-eaten bowl of porridge behind for the other slaves to deal with.

“He has too much energy for this early in the morning,” Tadeas groans. He leans his cheek heavily against his hand and brings his spoon up slowly.

“Tadeas the sun rose three hours ago,” Erasmus points out. Tadeas shrugs and continues to eat with sloth-like slowness.

Sometime later, the slaves leave the hall after taking their bowls and spoons to the kitchens and make their way to the palace gardens for a stroll. 

“Why are you so happy?” Tadeas asks as they pass through the stone archway that leads to the gardens. 

“Adrian was not wrong that Torveld and I laid together last night.”

“Erasmus, please!” 

Erasmus giggles. “Worry not, Tadeas, I know you don’t like hearing of it.

Tadeas sighs with relief. Funny, how crude jokes and comments come easily from his own lips, but actual details of sex makes him squirm. He does not wish to share details of his and Gareth’s nights together. No one should know what they each like and how their bodies entangle, save for the other. Erasmus is quiet about his moments with the prince, save for his ever-present smile the day after a good night. On the other hand, Adrian is carefree with his sex life and bores them both with detailed stories of just how the king’s fingers feel, making Tadeas wish he could scrub his brain with a cloth.

“But that is not all that makes me happy,” Erasmus says. “The prince has shown me a new kindness.”

“Like what?”

“He has encouraged me to pursue my own interests.” He blushes and turns his eyes resolutely forward onto the stone pathway that winds through the gardens, flowers of all colors flanking either side of the path. “It’s pathetic really. With our training, I didn’t even know what my interests were, but Torveld.” His eyes shine with his passion for the older man “He sat with me and asked me question after question to help me discover my own passions.”

“It seems our lovers have been conspiring.” Tadeas refuses to call them masters, even if that is what they are. Gareth does not treat him so and it seems Torveld does not either.

The blonde tilts his head and his brows press together until a small, perfect line appears in the middle of them. “How so?”

“Gareth asked me to consider my desires as well. He says he will help me pursue anything I want.”

Erasmus clasps his hands together in front of his chest and his face splits into a large, pretty grin. “Oh Tadeas,” he claims, “that’s wonderful!”

Dread fills Tadeas’s stomach, a contrasting darkness to the bright happiness coming from the pretty slave. He doesn’t have the words to speak of the feeling, only knows that it seems so easy for his friend to find his own joy while he thrashes around in a deep ocean of uncertainty. Something must cross his face because Erasmus’s expression softens and he grasps Tadeas’s elbow and guides him to a stone bench nestled into a patch of blue flowers Tadeas doesn’t know the name of. 

“Tell me your troubles.” Erasmus grasps his hand and pulls it into his lap to cover it with his other hand. Tadeas wants to wrench his hand away, the familiar itch already sprouting from where the older slave’s fingers rest against his skin, but he forces himself to ignore the feeling instead. Erasmus means no harm and if he is to heal from Vere, he needs to be able to handle friendly touch other than Gareth’s.

“I do not know what I desire. It is like you said, our training did not allow for us to discover our own wants.”

Erasmus nods and pats the back of his hand. “What did Lord Gareth tell you to do?”

“He told me to think on it.”

“Did he ask you about different pursuits?” Tadeas shakes his head and Erasmus smiles.

“Well, come then. Let’s find our masters. I’m sure Captain Gareth would love to help you like Prince Torveld has helped me.”

Tadeas doesn’t move, even as Erasmus rises from the bench and tugs at his arm. “They’re training, Erasmus. We can’t interrupt that.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Erasmus’s eyes light with joy and the grin he wears tells Tadeas a scheme is hatching before him. He doesn’t wait for permission before continuing. “Torveld confessed to me that he likes when I watch him train, that it makes him work harder. I’m sure Gareth feels the same.”

Tadeas flushes and pulls his hand from Erasmus’s grasp. “I’d rather not, thanks,” he huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He has no desire to spend time in the company of rough and calloused soldiers. The blonde’s grin falters for a moment, but then he shrugs and the easy joy that has consumed him all morning seems to brighten his face until he’s almost glowing again. 

“That is your choice, Tadeas, but I think I’ll go see Torveld now.” And with that, the pretty slave turns and leave the gardens, step light and practically skipping towards the training grounds.

Tadeas sits alone on the bench, mind whirring with thoughts he can’t quiet. Erasmus’s joy comes to him so easily with this new life. How is it possible for the man to be so happy after everything that happened in Vere? If Tadeas was a target of Veretian cruelty, Erasmus was the prize boar of the hunt. Yet, Erasmus embraces this new life with an ease of happiness Tadeas cannot comprehend. Every time he begins to feel happiness, a heaviness seems to tug at his chest and stomach, filling it with lethargy until all he desires to do is lounge and sleep until the feeling passes. Gareth has noticed and the worry in his eyes when he catches Tadeas asleep at the end of another long day apart makes Tadeas feel guilty on top of everything else. He doesn’t know what is wrong with him, why true happiness seems to evade him.

He is happy, but it comes in moments: the wind whipping through his hair as he rides, laughing until his stomach hurts with his friends, and indulging in intimate caresses with Gareth. Each time he tries to hold onto the feeling and each time it seems to slip right between his fingers like liquid.

He should be happy, but he isn’t. Gareth is right. He needs something to pursue, but how to choose something?

Boots crunch along the path and he looks up, irrational hope for a moment that Gareth has come to him again. Two guards turn the corner and walk down the path towards him. A rush of fear pulses down his spine. The memory of the last time he was caught alone in a garden by two guards flashes into his mind even as he tries desperately to beat it back. _Patras is nothing like Vere!_ His mind screams at the image, but it is no use. The guards come closer, jostling one another and grinning about something the one on the left said, but Tadeas’s brain isn’t working properly and he knows they’re planning something.

He jumps up from the bench and sprints out of the garden. “Hey!” one of the guards calls, but Tadeas’s legs only pump faster. Flowers pass in blurs of green, purple, blue, and pink. Tadeas doesn’t slow until the pebbled path gives way to one of the smooth stone hallways that passes between two buildings. He forces himself to pause and catch his breath. There is no sound of quickened steps come to get him and that realization makes him all at once relieved and ashamed at his own actions. 

“Coward,” he mumbles to himself and runs a hand through his hair to push it out of his face. “Pathetic coward.” He clenches his fist in his hair and pulls. He’s so stupid. He slumps back against the wall hard so the rough stone digs against his back. They weren’t going to hurt him, yet he ran from the garden like all those times he wished he could run in Vere. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he rubs them away furiously with the back of his hands. He won’t cry at his own stupidity. He needs a distraction. He needs… Gareth.

The young man looks around the corridor for a moment to get his bearings, before pushing off the wall and taking slow steps in the direction of the training grounds. He keeps his eyes on his boots as he passes bustling servants and posted guards. He doesn’t want them to see whatever shows on his face of his shame. He’s embarrassed enough without having witnesses save the two guards. He hopes to never see them again, but he didn’t even take in details of their appearance in order to avoid them in the future.

His feet guide him mindlessly down three corridors and through a stone archway to the center courtyard where the guards train. The sound of clashing swords, masculine grunts, and the thwump of blocked blows reach his ears first. The stone under his feet turns to dirt with a smattering of grass trying to grow through the turmoil of heavily trodden earth. Is it strange that the image makes him upset? He really is pathetic.

“Tadeas!” calls Erasmus, making Tadeas finally look up from his feet to find the other slave. The blonde smiles and waves from where he stands behind one of the wooden barricades that line the inner square of the courtyard. Torveld stands next to him, arm slung low over the younger man’s hips and wearing a satisfied smile. Guards flank either side of the pair, leaning casually against the barricades, eyes on the two men in the ring that circle each other with blunt training swords and leather shields. The men both wear helmets that obscure their face and hair, but when one glances Tadeas’s way and lifts his shield, Tadeas knows Gareth is one of them.

He keeps his eyes on Gareth even as he makes his way towards his friend. Some of the men look at him as he approaches the barricades and he drags his feet through the sand, unsure what to do. He wants to stand with Erasmus and Torveld, the only two he knows in the crowd, but he doesn’t want to walk through the crowd of guards that surround Erasmus and Torveld. He finds a spot at the corner of the ring that leaves empty space between him and one of the watching guards under the guise that he got distracted watching Gareth on his way towards Erasmus. 

Gareth and the other guard continue to circle one another, neither advancing to make a blow. The soldier holds his spine and arms stiff, sword and shield held perfectly before him as if replicating the image of a training manual. On the other hand, Gareth seems relaxed, shield held loosely at his side and flipping his sword in lazy circles as they step around the ring. The sword glints and Tadeas tracks its movements through Gareth’s lazy tricks with it.

“Come on men, are you dancing or fighting?” Torveld calls. Erasmus laughs, light and tinkering, and Tadeas swears he can even hear Gareth’s low chuckle.

“Well, sire, I wanted to practice before asking the pretty creature at your side for a dance at the next banquet,” Gareth calls over his shoulder, turning his head towards the pair. Erasmus chokes on his laughter, hiding the undignified snort behind his hand, and Torveld rolls his eyes at his captain’s boldness, fond smile tugging at his lips.

“My apologies, captain, I fear I will be preoccupied,” Erasmus teases. “I’m sure Tadeas would allow you step on his toes.” The surrounding men laugh and jeer and Gareth pantomimes clutching at his heart as if in pain.

The other soldier in the ring sees the opportunity of Gareth’s distraction and takes it. He lunges forward, sword overhead and swings his arm down hard. 

“Gareth!” Tadeas yelps in fear, before he can stop himself, but Gareth is already moving. He brings his shield up and pushes the sword out of the way with ease as if brushing away a pesky fly, then raises his own sword to land a blow against the man’s ribs with the flat of it. The man grunts and stumbles sideways with the force of the blow, gripping his side.

“Yield!” he calls when Gareth raises his sword again.

“Good man.” Gareth offers a hand to the other soldier and they grasp hands for a moment to signal the end of the skirmish. The man slinks off to the group of soldiers that welcome him with back slaps and a mix of taunts and encouragement.

“Next round: John, Will,” Torveld announces in a clear voice even louder than the raucous men.

Gareth passes the sword to a squire before finally making his way through the dirt ring towards Tadeas. He hefts himself over the barricade with ease as two men the size of small mountains face each other in the ring. As soon as he clears the area, Torveld calls for the match to start and the men slam into each other with a sound as loud as a thunder clap. Tadeas jumps at the noise and Gareth smiles, distorted behind pieces of metal that line his face, leaving only allow part of his mouth exposed.

“Suddenly I feel like a walk around the grounds,” Gareth claims. “Would you care to join me?” He extends a hand towards Tadeas as he pulls the helmet off. He shakes his head to clear errant waves from his face and smiles at the slave. _Oh…_ Tadeas’s eyes widen and he freezes with realization. 

The men around the barricades yell suddenly, cheers and groans at whatever is happening in the ring. Tadeas flinches again.

“Come, Tadeas,” Gareth says and grasps his hand. He pushes his helmet into the arms of the nearest guard without a word and leads the younger man out of the square and away from the loud skirmish and louder audience. Tadeas casts one last look over his shoulder and finds Erasmus, staring past the wrestling pair and at him instead. He smiles and waves before pressing himself further into Torveld’s embrace. The prince lays a kiss on top of his head and then Tadeas is turning a corner and the pair is no longer in sight.

Gareth slows their pace and holds Tadeas’s hand at his side instead of tugging him along as they walk. The younger man studies him as they pass through another stone hallway. Sweat gleams on his forehead. His cheeks are tinted pink and his hair is a nest of tangled waves from being crushed under the helmet. He should be exhausted, but his expression is open, joyful. If anything, he seems to be thrumming with energy. Tadeas shakes his head and huffs a breath of laughter.

“Do I have something on my face?” Gareth asks, teasing evident in his voice.

“No, just musing that even sweaty and gross, you’re gorgeous,” Tadeas teases back. A passing servant stares at him with wide eyes, surprised at his bold words not said in the subtleties permitted slaves. Tadeas flushes but ignores her in favor of looking at the captain still holding his hand. Gareth smirks and his eyes glint with mischief. He pivots, grasps Tadeas’s hips tight, and guides him backwards until the slave’s back hits one of the stone pillars that line a courtyard. He crowds into the younger man until their faces are only inches apart and Tadeas senses are filled with the slight tang of his sweat and the heat coming off his skin. Desire grips his chest as Gareth looms over him.

“Gorgeous, am I?” Gareth breathes against Tadeas’s neck before laying a series of kisses along his exposed collarbone. Tadeas lets out a shuddering breath as soft pleasure lights his skin. He wants nothing more than to relax against the pillar and indulge in Gareth’s caresses, but he is too aware of where they are.

He shoves at a strong shoulder and the captain pulls back with a pout on his lips. “Not here,” he says. Gareth seems to understand his desire for privacy, though Tadeas knows he does not share the same feelings. The captain would indulge in kissing and caressing anywhere without care to onlookers if Tadeas let him. Still, the man pulls back with a smile, intertwines their fingers, and resumes their walk.

The pair is silent as they walk through the maze of inner and outer hallways. They exit the castle and take to the winding path that surrounds it, a dirt road between the castle and the villages that surround it. Guards are posted at every entrance of the castle, but clear from the path. 

It takes Tadeas a moment to realize the captain is waiting for him to speak, then it takes longer to find the words. He studies the ground, the man beside him, the sky, and then Gareth again. He chews his lower lip and his free hand fiddles with the edge of his tunic. Gareth’s eyes stare forward, but the corner of his mouth upturns.

“You can tell me, Tadeas,” he says gently.

“I want to learn to do that.”

“Tell me things?”

“No.” He sighs when Gareth chuckles. “To wield a sword, to fight like you do,” he explains.

Gareth jerks to a stop and pulls Tadeas to face him in the middle of the road. Tadeas opens his mouth to add something, he’s not sure what, but the look Gareth levels on him makes him close his mouth again. Gareth studies his face, brows furrowed together and mouth tilted down in a frown. Disappointment floods Tadeas. He closes his eyes and waits for the rejection. Slaves are not allowed weaponry. He knows that, yet he still dared to hope that Gareth would bend the rules, that Gareth of all people would overlook his status like he does in so many other ways.

A hand squeezes his shoulder and he braces himself as he opens his eyes again. He will not be upset. He has faced far worse pain than rejection. Gareth smiles at him, soft with affection.

“You cannot train with the men.” 

Just like that, Tadeas thinks, comes the end of his only interest. He knew he would be disappointed, but he didn’t think it would hurt as bad as it does. Gareth promised him they would find his passion together and now that he has found one, Gareth is the one to forbid it.

“Tadeas are you listening to me?” 

He blinks and Gareth’s concerned face seems to swim into view. He must have escaped into his own thoughts.

“No, sire, sorry.”

Gareth shakes his head, but does not rebuke him for the slipped “sire.” “I was saying, you can’t train with the men because they’ve been training for their whole lives. I’ll train you in the evenings until you are skilled enough to join the sword training of the new guards when we bring them in next season. Would you like that?”

Shock, joy, and disbelief course through Tadeas at once in a confusing mix of emotions. He isn’t sure how to react and he stands there frozen as the emotions war in his chest. Excitement wins out in a rush and he throws his arms around Gareth’s neck with a laugh, stretching up onto his toes to embrace the older man. The man grunts at the impact but wraps his arms tight around the slave’s waist and tucks his face into Tadeas’s neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Tadeas exclaims over and over until Gareth silences him with a kiss. 

“Tomorrow?” Gareth asks when they part. Tadeas is too happy to respond with words. He pulls the man into another enthusiastic kiss, practically vibrating with anticipation. _Tomorrow_.


End file.
